The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) (39 page)

The man
looked nervously at Acton, the ‘would I rather feel shamed or be dead’ debate
going on. A little too slowly. Laura joined him at his side, her own weapon
pointed at the man. “Why don’t you go cover the back?” she suggested.

The man
nodded, lowering his weapon as Cadeo returned from the back room. “We’re
surrounded,” he said.

The
gunfire stopped, the sturdy metal door having held back almost all the bullets,
the small glass window in the door shattered. Acton looked back at Stewart and
Murphy, Murphy’s camera still rolling. “Are we still live?”

“Yes,”
replied Stewart.

“Good!”
Acton faced the camera. “As you can see, we aren’t shooting back. It was one
local who got scared and fired, and we stopped him. We have no intention of
fighting, we just want our story to get out to the world so they know the truth
of what happened here today. We want safe passage to the American Embassy, and
eventually home. We are willing to cooperate fully with any investigation, but
only with consular access and an assurance we won’t be harmed.” He paused, his
eyes narrowing. “Where’s Phong?”

Stewart
motioned to the far corner. Phong and Mai were both huddled there behind what
looked like some sort of large tool cabinet.

“Are you
two okay?”

Nods.

“Good.
Just stay back there, stay low.” He turned back to Niner who was stealing
glances out the shattered window. “Status?”

“About
two dozen police and Sarkov. All light weapons for now but I’m sure the heavy
artillery will be arriving soon. What’s our game plan here?”

“I think
we need to delay as long as possible without killing anyone else. Our story
needs time to circulate so the powers that be can get some control of the
situation.”

“Which
means we need to start negotiating,” said Laura. “That should buy us time if
they’re willing to talk.”

“That’s
the question,” said Niner, “are they willing to talk? This isn’t back home
where they’ll spend three days talking down a madman with a Mountain Dew and a
hard on. This is Vietnam. Shoot first, burry the evidence so there’s no
questions to ask except, ‘I wonder what ever happened to that nice subversive
who lived down the street?’”

“True,
but we’re TV stars right now,” said Acton, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at
Murphy. “They never kill celebrities.”

“In
America.”

“This is
true too. We could tell them you’re a K-pop star on vacation.”

“I do
have a lovely singing voice.”

“Would
you two stop?”

Acton
turned to Laura, an expression of chagrin on his face. “Sorry, hon. Nervous
tension.”

She
shook her head at them but Acton could tell she was battling a laugh, her
nerves on edge as well. He glanced back at the camera and could tell Stewart
was fascinated with what he was seeing, Murphy giving him a thumbs up from
behind the camera mounted on his shoulder.

“How do
we start negotiations?” asked Acton. “Wait for them?”

“I think
that question is now moot,” said Niner from his position at the door. “Look.”

Acton
stepped over to the door and took a quick peek.

“Uh oh,
this can’t be good.”

Dong Mac Ward, Hanoi, Vietnam

“Mr. Sarkov!”

Sarkov
turned to see the police lieutenant who was in charge of the scene rushing
toward him. The gunfire had been brief and had thankfully stopped. He had no
desire to see anyone inside killed or injured, though he feared death was their
immediate future unless someone in Moscow decreed otherwise.

Hanoi
was clearly marching to a Russian beat.

“I’ve
just been informed that the American delegation has left for the airport and
that your superior, Mr. Yashkin, is on his way.”

Sarkov
felt butterflies. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“How did
he find out?”

“I’m
assuming the police radio.”

Sarkov
kept his expression neutral, his overwhelming desire to curse at the news held
at bay. “When will he arrive?”

“About
fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.
I’m going to attempt to talk them down.”

The
lieutenant frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise? They have already fired at us.”

“Yes,
but that might have been nerves. Let’s see what happens.”

He
unholstered his weapon, placing it on the roof of his car, then turned and
strode directly toward the door with the now shattered window, his hands held
out at his sides. He spotted movement inside, then a second head appeared for a
moment.

“We need
to talk!” he called, continuing forward. “I’m unarmed!”

“Lift
your jacket, take a spin.”

He
lifted his jacket up, revealing his portly belt line then turned around so they
could see he wasn’t concealing another gun.

“Okay,
keep coming forward, hands up.”

He
approached the door and it suddenly was pulled open. He stepped inside and as
the door closed behind him he recognized Agent Green as the man he had been
speaking to and the two professors. A television crew was filming from the
other side of what looked like a repurposed garage. Four Vietnamese men with
guns were at the far end and what appeared to be Phong with the young Mai girl
hiding in a corner.

All
the loose ends except Duy.

It would
be the mother lode if Yashkin got here.

These
people don’t stand a chance.

And he
said so.

“You
people don’t stand a chance.”

“What do
you mean?” asked Acton as the American agent patted him down.

“He’s
clean,” announced the man before covering the door again.

“My
superior, Mr. Yashkin, will be here within less than fifteen minutes. At that
point he will order your elimination.”

“But
why?” asked Laura. “We have proof we’re innocent.”

“He
doesn’t care. He’s under orders to push the official story from Moscow. He’s
already ordered the destruction of the museum video and the hotel footage
showing Mr. Quan entering and leaving Agent Green’s room, and Agent Green
leaving his room just after the shooting occurred, proving he wasn’t involved.”

Acton
turned toward the camera. “You got that?” Murphy gave a thumbs up. “We’re live
on several networks right now.”

Sarkov
frowned, this an unexpected development, but his fate had been sealed the
moment he went to Phong’s apartment instead of home. “I understand. Now
you
need to understand
me
. You all need to surrender your weapons and come
with me. I’ll take you to the airport where we can get on a plane to Moscow. At
least there you’ll be in a more civilized country.”

“Only a
bit
more civilized,” said Acton. “Let’s just be clear, it’s Moscow that’s trying to
kill us.”

“Yes,
but this is a proxy war. The Vietnamese are the ones trying to kill you on
camera. Once you’re in Moscow, you’ll simply become pawns. My prediction is you
two will be released almost immediately, the Vietnamese nationals would be
returned after a cooling off period, and Agent Green would at most get a show
trial.”

“But we have
proof that he wasn’t involved.”

“Your
word is hardly proof.”

Laura
shook her head. “No, we have the museum footage that proves he wasn’t the
shooter.”

Sarkov’s
eyes narrowed, his heart skipping a beat in excitement. “Really?” He looked
over at Mai, a sudden realization dawning on him. “You made a second copy?”

She
nodded.

“Brilliant,
brave woman.” His appreciation for this young, diminutive woman grew several
fold. He looked at Laura. “And this footage proves that your Agent Green wasn’t
the shooter.”

“Without
a doubt. And Phong just gave a full confession to the world.”

“And we
gave our witness statements,” added Acton. “The world knows this was a lone
gunman, a local man who was taking revenge for a war crime committed forty
years ago.”

Sarkov
thought for a moment.

This
changes everything.

There
was no way Moscow could kill or disappear these people if he got them to
Russia. But they were still in terrible danger if they remained here, with
Yashkin only minutes away. “This is good news,” he finally said. “And it makes
it all the more important that we get you out of Vietnam.”

“Why?”
asked Acton.

“If the
world knows you are definitely innocent, there is no way Moscow will harm you.
The worst that will happen is you are put up in a hotel under guard for a few
weeks while you are questioned and the Kremlin does their dog and pony show for
the press, then you’ll all be released. Young Mai will probably be released,
perhaps even with a demand that she not be harmed by the Vietnamese upon her
return, and Phong will be given a trial, most likely quickly found guilty and
sentenced to life in prison.”

Phong
rose from his corner. “I’ve already accepted that,” he said as he walked toward
them. “I don’t want anyone else hurt. We should do what he says.”

One of
the Vietnamese men said something, Mai jumping to her feet and rushing over to the
man, grabbing him by the arm. Words were exchanged, rapid fire, Sarkov having
no hope of understanding. Acton turned toward them.

“What’s
going on?”

“He says
he’s not going to Russia.”

“Better
there than here,” said Laura. “At least temporarily.”

“He said
he has a way out.”

Acton’s
eyes narrowed. “And he’s telling us this now?”

“He
didn’t think he’d need to use it. He says we can all escape.”

Cadeo
pulled a panel up from the floor and his men began to descend some steps into
what was once a mechanic’s pit. “Are you coming?” he asked his sister in
English.

She
shook her head.

Acton
stepped toward Cadeo. “Listen, if you run now, you’ll be running your entire
life.”

Cadeo
just glared at him then looked at his sister saying something in Vietnamese,
his expression softening. She nodded, biting her forefinger as tears flowed
down her cheeks. Cadeo disappeared, closing the panel behind him. Laura walked
over and put her arm around Mai’s shoulders. “What did he say?” she asked
softly.

“He said
he loved me and to be careful.”

Laura
hugged her tighter as she began to sob, leading her away, waving off the camera
following them.

Sarkov
looked at Acton. “We have little time to debate this. Once Mr. Yashkin is here,
you will die, perhaps me as well.”

“Why are
you doing this?”

“Because
it’s the right thing to do.”

Acton
seemed to think about this for a moment then walked over to Agent Green. There
were whispers as they spoke, the brief conversation breaking with nods of
agreement. Acton then spoke to his wife, again in hushed tones. Finally he
spoke to the camera crew. He turned to Sarkov.

“What
about the reporters? They’re not involved.”

“Are
they the ones that were there when Miss Trinh was rescued.”

Acton
quickly shook his head, perhaps a little too quickly. “No.”

“Then I
think I might be able to convince my Vietnamese counterpart to let them leave.
I would highly suggest they leave the country as quickly as possible, even
if
they are not the crew wanted by the authorities.”

Acton
nodded, as if he understood that Sarkov knew he was lying.

“So we
are agreed?”

Nods of
assent gave him the green light.

“Then we
must leave now, we have only minutes.”

Dong Mac Ward, Hanoi, Vietnam

Dimitri Yashkin rolled up in his chauffeured vehicle provided by the
Russian Embassy. The drive had been uneventful but slow, taking more than the
promised twenty minutes, a parade of some sort blocking their way, it seeming
to stretch across half the damned city. And what he found when he arrived
baffled him. Two police cars and nothing more.